


The Name I Carry

by Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492



Series: Aguilar de Nera x Maria Fics [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassins vs Templars, F/M, Historial Accuracy, Period Typical Sexism, Slight Historical Inaccuracy, Templar turned Assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492/pseuds/Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Maria was named after Maria Thorpe, and the two almost shared a similar path in life.





	The Name I Carry

_Maria looks to her name sake and her relation with Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and she thinks that it could have worked._

_That they would have been together either way._

* * *

* * *

 

_The branch sways slightly under her weight, but she is sure and steady as she moves. Climbing the trees has become a new past time for her. With only the price of her dress and a few scrapes to pay for it. Digging her nails into the thin bark, Maria almost feels like this time will work out better than last, but then she's falling._

_This dress hasn’t been too badly ruined, it’s the mud that destroys them, and it was her luck that she barely misses it most of the time._

_She’s careful enough when climbing that the fabric doesn’t catch and tear. Her father doesn’t distinguish between these two activities when it comes to ruined dresses- no roughhousing is allowed-no dealings with trees or mud or rocks. It wasn't as if Maria had asked to be born a girl. To be born with a strong will to defy what is considered lady like and proper. She knows her father would like that better though if she had been a boy, but she can’t help that she’s a girl and will have breasts and hips and is only good for bearing children for a husband. It’s not her fault, she thinks again, blinking back tears and reaching for the next branch. If she gets high enough the manor and grounds will seem so small around her that maybe those problems will seem small too. But Maria learns early on that she cannot run from her problems, or climb, even if perhaps there had been a small time when father wouldn't treat her like this._

_Her hand is on a branch when she hears it, in the midst of hoisting herself higher–_

_“Maria!”_

_The angery shout startles her, mostly because of the scream that accompanies it. It is so loud and so unexpected that her concentration is broken and her hand slips. The weight that she had once concentrated into staying balanced was thrown off. Sending her straight down.  A branch hits her in the back, knocks the wind out of her lungs while smaller ones whip and tear at her. It is a long way down, but she does not scream. She can't because that would be showing weakness. Then in one quick second s omething hits the back of her neck hard and she is so dazed by the loss of wind and the stars in her eyes that she doesn’t even move as she breaks through the last branches and has a bit of a freefall. She lands in something that is slightly forgiving and wet, and thinks that she will close her eyes for just a second, forget who was yelling at her. Then there is the sound of boots, big boots thumping along through the ground. Maria tries to lift her hand, tries to get up, only to find that the world still spins._

_It takes her a moment to come to the conclusion that she has landed in mud.  She struggles to get her feet back under herself, and if it wasn't for the hand she would have stayed in that mud all day.  She takes a few lazy blinks and he comes back into focus, if only vaguely. Showing that the hand had belonged to her father._

* * *

* * *

 

_The last time he had been this mad at her was when she picked up a bow._

_The bow was old, cracks forming within the wood from not being properly taken care of, and the string was not in the best condition. If Maria was being honest it looked as if it would snap if she pulled it back._

_She wasn't supposed to touch weapons._

_She was too young and she was a girl on top of that. There was lessions in how to be a lady that she was supposed to be attending, but those things were always a bore. Even if it was her nursemaid that gave them._

_Finding an arrow, Maria notched it to the string, before mimicing what archers looked like in ancient paintings. It took her some time and then some to stop her arm from shaking so bad. Because if she missed-if the arrow hit somewhere that she couldn't get to-_

 

_"Maria! What are you doing girl!"_

_The voice was a loud shout, laced with anger, and Maria jumped feeling the string smack against her arm as the arrow was released. Fear prickled at her scalp, but before she could see where the arrow had landed she was being picked up._

_"You insulent girl. You could have killed someone with these childish acts."_

* * *

* * *

 

_He is angry as he towers above her. His armor is on, sword on his hip, a cross of crimson around his neck. Matthew is there too, looking at her with annoyance and slight worry. They both know how this ends-_

_“What have I told you?” Father snaps, taking a step closer and Maria nearly falls over. “You terrified your mother- she’s with child, I won’t lose my son to your antics Maria!“_

_And indeed, there is mother, mouth a tight line as she watches, just watches. Her hands moving to shield the swell of her stomach. Another child on the way that will have no dowry._

_Maria thinks of how she used to be angry when her mother did not do anything when her father yelled. This was before she learned of what a wife was meant to say and do. She is honestly upset that she has worried her mother, but this treatment from her father– she knows she is not what he wanted–_

_“Have someone bathe her, we have important guests tonight."_

* * *

* * *

 

_Maria likes baths._

_The servant usually charged with the task is the same woman who once served as her nursemaid. Her name is Elizabeth, and she knows stories. She speaks of William the Conquer, who her brother was named for, and the Templar Knight Maria Thorpe that she is named for, and stories about all the Saints. She is wise and a holy woman, someone that Maria wants to look up to, if it wasn't improper to do so._

_She knows she is technically not supposed to like the baths, that they give people diseases in the water. That you can even die from it if you are not careful._

_She knows her father does not care though, that even if it wasn’t healthy, it has the desired effect of making her look as clean as royalty._

_However, the best part makes the negatives of bathing dull. The best part is getting her hair washed. Elizabeth rubs lavender and rose oil into it after she has scrubbed it with the soap. Maria loves the way the scent will float around her, settle into her pillows at night. Giving her a night of bliss._

_Once her hair is rinsed, Elizabeth braids it. The older woman loves Maria’s hair, twists it between her fingers, admiring the rich chestnut of it. However  tonight she braids in a no nonsense manner, and hurries Maria out of the tub._

* * *

* * *

 

_When her first suitor arrives, Maria is only six, and she cannot remember much of what happened._

_Elizabeth had done her braids as quickly and neatly as possible before dressing her and sending her off. It was something that she had never seen from her nursemaid, and she never tells Maria to go to the main hall. Something she never does._

_The main hall is for great feast and dinners with other nobles. However, there was no holiday approaching, and normally the workers would speak if important nobles were coming._

_Father stands as soon as she enters with a smiling mother by his side._

_"Lord Ramier, this is my daughter Maria."_

* * *

* * *

 

_“Dress quickly, Maria,” Elizabeth urges as she helps her first into her shift, then into the dress. The girdle is loosely tied about her waist- she is only eight, and cannot wear the clothes of a woman yet. Pinching her feet into her shoes._

_Finally, reverently, Elizabeth lifts the small gold cross from its place in the case and sets it into place around her neck. There is a flurry of movement from her former nursemaid as she plucks and straightens– and then she is satisfied, and lets out a sigh._

_“Go to the main hall,”Elizabeth tells her and Maria doesn't have the strength to play coy._

_The main hall is down two sets of stairs and Maria takes them one at a time, hands fisted loosely in the dress. If she is badly behaved, maybe father will let her spend more time with Abraham. Abraham is to be a monk someday because he is a third son– William is the heir and Matthew the spare, and nothing will be left in the inheritance for Abraham after Maria’s dowry. Which leaves the child that is on the way to the same fate._

_The door to the hall comes into view– and there is her father at the big table, and William at his right– and with his back facing the door, Abraham. With two additional men, the guest, sitting across from William._

_“There she is,” Father stands upon her entrance, motioning for her to sit next to William. Oh, he is in a good mood for the guest. Maria must behave extra well, then. She takes lady-like steps to the big table, keeping her head bowed, her back straight._

_"Maria," Father says, and his voice is as soft and kind. A sharp contrast to what it had been earlier. "This is Lord Torquemada and Alonso de Ojeda. The monastery is located on Lord Ojeda's lands. He will be staying with us for some time.”  Maria curtseys, trying her very best. She hears a slight noise from her father in approval. “See? I told you she was a pretty thing. A good way to tie our families together, a thank you for the kindness shown towards my son.”_

_Oh, Maria thinks sadly. Another man who she might have to wed. She ran off the last one-apparently he did not wish for a wife that could throw a knife with such percision towards his face._

_“None of that now,” Ojeda says, speaking in flued Spanish, unlike the English that the last one used. “Marriage is a long way off, and I have heard of what happened to the last man. Although, I must say, that part impressed me the most."_

_Maria thinks she almost likes him after that._

* * *

* * *

 

_When Maria is only eighteen years of age, she is married to Ojeda as promised._

_It is something that she finds herself liking, because he does not treat her like property._

_The Conquestador treats her like an equal, a partner that he will have by his side when he leads the Black Knights of Spains Templar Order. It leaves her happy, truly happy, and she doesn't think that she would mind carrying his child._

_It is an absurd thought for someone who grew up to despise the idea of what a wife should be, but then she had always thought that she liked that one. That he had been different. Unlike the nobleman from Aragon who had judged her for not having hips at such a young age when they had met._

_He is different, her view on the Holy Order of the Knights Templar is different, and that is why she ask him to train her as he would one of his men._

_Maria learns how to use a shield properly and how to use a crossbow. Fighting with a spear is next and she enjoys beating up his men almost as much as she does impressing them. Her training soon moves on to fighting with a sword and a blade._

_Her husband remarks that she was born for such weaponry._

_She remarks back that it was thanks to all of her suitors that she ran off as a child._

* * *

* * *

 

_When Maria is nineteen years of age, she goes off to the Holy War with him, and Torquemada speaks of how she will go down jusg as Joan of Arc had decades prior._

_Following in her name sakes footsteps as she adones Templar Armor, a cross of gold and crimson jewels draps around her neck. The chainmail that would sit upon a normal soldiers head has been pushed back, her metal helmet sitting on the top of her horses pack._

_Maria is to be a symbol upon the black andalusian horse that she rides upon. A symbol of the strength and elegance of the Templar Order. For sitting upon her curly, thick, cheasnut curls is a transparent veil. The grey color of a storm cloud, that is dark enough to hide her face, but transparent enough to show the features. And holding the veil down it a crown of thick metal, of gold and silver, with crosses made of crimson rubies._

_She is a symbol with her armor and sword, and veil and crown. Sitting upon a large mount that comes from the place she will march through in the name of God._

_Maria almost forgets that she had once wanted nothing more than free will._

_Then as a symbol she gathers the attention of the Assassins that roam Andalucia. Spanish Moors that descent from the Holy Land._

_For a time she is almost curious, she almost wants to meet an Assassin, or at least see one. Then she does-and when the hooded figure stands before her he rips away the veil from her face. It is very much like greeting death, but the hooded man does not kill her. He simply stares as if looking upon a corpse of a loved one._

_She should have killed him then. Taken her sword within her hands to pierce this man, but she doesn't._

_Maria doesn't fight back like she should have and that leads her to awakening in some form of a Temple. Or perhaps it is a Church. Though either way it houses Assassins, the very ones that she had once been curious about meeting, and now she was surrounded by them. Some dressed in a manner that reminded her of Abraham, of a monk in their white robes. Others were dressed in individual clothing with weapons strapled over their back._

_Their watching her, studying her, and for a short time everything is silent before the one that took her speaks._

_"Who was your mother?"_

_It is a stern question, spoken in the tone of a leader, whilst the question itself takes her back. Why should her mothers identity matter? Why should any of this matter? And Maria almost wishes to bite her tongue._

_"Isabelle."_

* * *

* * *

 

_Years passed. Years away from her husband, spent learning the ways of the Assassin Brotherhood as her parents had._

_It took time for her to wash away the ideals that she had once believed in-once had lived for. It leaves her fiercly dedicated to the Creed with that anger from her child years burning away at her. At her parents for not staying with what they had sworn to do. At her brothers who still hold oaths to the Order, and at Abraham for being a monk when in another life he could have been an Assassin._

_She doesn't speak much of her family. The Brotherhood understands this, but they don't understand some things. Why she keeps the crown and the viel. Why she keeps the Templar armor she had once worn and the weapons that she had once trained with. Why she keeps the gifts that her husband had given her; a silk shawl, sword, and ropevdart from China, and a statue of Joan of Arc from France._

_Maria doesn't know why she keeps it either, but perhaps deep down she does miss him. Because now she fights him._

_Now she has a novice to teach._

_She doesn't like the way he looks at her. With so much emotion that he only shows with his eyes, keeping his figure calm._

_She doesn't like the fact that she likes him back. That she has formed such a tight bond with him that normal mentors and novices do not share._

_Then she looks to her name sake and she supposes that this is how it was meant to be. Even if she had stayed a Templar, the Spanish Assassin would not be far behind._


End file.
